Pieces
by yas-m
Summary: Semi-plotless Jack/Kate oneshot/drabble. Five moments from their journey  on island/off island/afterlife .


Hey! This is another plotless drabble/oneshot. I am sorry I have not been updating my other fics, but RL has been killing me lately. So I hope you enjoy this, and not give up on my other fics. I'll try to update this week. Promise.

Oh, and let's just pretend the song selection works. I know technically, with the timeline of the show, Sia's "Soon We'll Be Found" comes out after the series ends, but let's pretend not, mkay? LOL! Enjoy!

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One**

Sleep comes hard. That is if it even comes at all. He tosses and turns in his tent, the rough sand scratching mercilessly at his tired back. He stares blankly at the tarp above his head, the harsh evening winds pulling at it through the tight seams. He pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a tired breath. The beach outside is quiet, save for the howling of the wind and the menacing crashes of the waves against the white sand. The trees in the jungle are quiet for a while before _it_ comes out to feed, or hunt, or do whatever it does. He pushes off his makeshift bed with a grunt and escapes through the flapping tarp entrance of his tent. Sayid's signal fire still burns at the center of their camp, and it silhouettes gently the lone figure standing at the beach. He does not need to double check to know who that is. He takes a few steps forward, careful not to frighten her in the dark night.

"Couldn't sleep," her tone is neither a question nor a statement, just an empty phrase floating between them in the darkness of the night.

He comes to stand next to her. Her hair flows with the wind and tickles his shoulder. He turns to watch it playing in the breeze, each tendril and wave leaving him more and more mesmerized. He reaches up, wrapping a curl around his finger and then smoothly letting it uncurl, leaving soft trails along his calloused skin.

She looks down and watches his bare feet sinking into the sand. She giggles to herself and he feels it tingling along his spine. It reaches his ears and he realizes he is glad he cannot sleep.

**Two**

Juliet brings him a burger and it's the first decent meal he has had in months. But he does not tell her that. He takes a bite and let the juicy, warm taste take over his every sense. He lets his mind wonder where the Others had access to such meat for just a short moment before all his thoughts turn to her.

He wonders what they are feeding her, if even they are feeding her at all. He drops the burger back into the plate and his brow knots. His eyes dart around the room as he falls into a state of deep concern. He places the plate on the floor next to him and jumps to his feet. He wipes his hand unceremoniously against his dirty jeans and walks over to the intercom.

He presses the dusty red button and calls for Juliet. He calls for Ben, for anyone. But all he hears is static. He feels the rage bubbling through his veins and he slams a fist against the rusty contraption.

He turns towards the door, banging furiously to get some attention. He stays at it for what seems like hours until Juliet appears at the other side of the glass, smirking, cold and calculated as she always is.

She looks at him, waiting for him to say whatever was bothering him. He rests his hands against the glass; taking a moment to calm down, catch his breath after yelling for so long. After a while, he raises his head, his eyes narrow and focused, "she doesn't eat meat."

**Three**

The bar is almost empty, a few customers here and there, all ready to pay their bills and call it a night. The bartender cleans a few glasses with a damp cloth and eyes the few people still around, assessing the damage for the evening, and making sure those who need a cab are taken care of.

The jukebox is old and rusty but it still plays a decent tune for whoever takes the initiative and gives it a chance. It does not take any coins though, all it needs is a firm kick or shove to the side of it, and it will surprise with a random song choice.

They sit in the farthest booth, the only two customers making no plans on leaving any time soon. They share a drink and she sits with her back lying against his chest. It is hot outside, and the lonely fan in the bar does little to cool the air. The evening wind is scarce and humid, and it stick to their skin with a sweat. She loses her shoes and raises her feet up to the couch, stretching out her legs against the scratched leather. He has one hand on the table, trying to steal as much of the coolness of the drink onto his skin. His other hand lies on her stomach, wrapped around hers, fingers intertwined. Her other hands is languidly caressing the side of his face, his stubble scratching her delicate skin and he occasionally brushes his lips to the inside of her palm. Her hair is in a messy ponytail and it sticks to his neck, where her head lies, fitting perfectly below his chin.

He kisses the side of her head and gently pushes her off. She tries to fight him off, but he chuckles against her skin, "let's dance," he whispers and gets her to her feet. He gives her no chance to retrieve her shoes and she does not mind, enjoying the cold floor, no matter how dirty it could be.

He hits the side of the jukebox with his fist and turns back to her. He pulls her against him, encouraging her to get up on his feet, joking about broken beer bottles and spilled nacho cheese.

Even with the leverage of being on his feet, he still towers above her. His tall solid frame as always making her feel small and vulnerable next to him. Her dress flows with the fan overhead and with their swaying. His hands roam her back, finally settling on the small of her back, drawing gentle circles and not so subtly pulling her tighter against his body.

_Well it's been rough but we'll be just fine  
Work it out yeah we'll survive  
You mustn't let a few bad times dictate_

_So come along, it wont be long  
'Til we return happy  
Shut your eyes, there are no lies  
In this world we call sleep  
Let's desert this day of hurt  
Tomorrow we'll be free_

_Let's not fight I'm tired can't we just sleep tonight  
Turn away it's just there's nothing left here to say  
Turn around I know we're lost but soon we'll be found _

Her hands wrap around his neck, her fingers toying with the soft hair at the back of his head, her cheek pressed against his chest, listening to his heart beat in rhythm withers. He drops his head to her shoulder, breathing her in before his lips start a dizzying journey to her ear, licking, kissing, nipping, and when they reach their destination, he breathes warm against her heated skin before he whispers, "let's go home."

**Four**

His hands shake and he feels the sweat dripping along his forehead. The procedure is simple, straightforward and yet he cannot stop the trembling that starts with his hand and soon spreads through his entire body. The black thread between his fingers starts to taunt his, reminding him of a lifetime of disappointments and failures, of things he has done wrong and people he has failed. He clenches his jaw and fights the flood of thoughts that shift his concentration from where it should be.

He takes another look at the wound and shakes his head. The simplicity of what he has to do starts to cripple. He berates himself, reminds himself that anyone could do this. It just needs four stitches. Four simple stitches and all this will be over. He distracts himself by pushing her damp curls out of the way, trying to focus on the task at hand, but having those curls brush against his fingers against is a bigger distraction than he hoped they would be.

And then her hand is on his arms, her touch gentle, soft and yet is says everything he needs to hear at the moment. Her touch is trust, faith in him that he fails to have in himself. Her touch calms him down, steadies his breath, slows down his heartbeat, and his hand stops shaking.

Four stitches later and he gently fixes her shirt back in place. She smiles tiredly at him, "did you count to five?" she ass innocently.

His breath hitches in his throat, and he can only smile back. He does not have the courage to tell her that with her as his patient, the fear will always win, that he does not have it in him to count to five. The fear could only disappear if she makes it happen.

**Five**

He cannot sleep. The cool breeze dances through the open bedroom window and the early morning sun floods the room with warmth. The sheets are tangled by his feet, and she lies sprawled on top of him. Her lips are latched to his chest, making their way up to his mouth. He does not exactly want to sleep.

There is a plate of fruits by the bed and she teases him with a strawberry before she takes it into her mouth, enjoying the sweet nectar of the cold fruit dancing against her tongue. He pulls her down and crashes his lips to hers, letting her taste mixed with the fruit drown into his mouth.

He pulls the hair away from her damp forehead and kisses her gently, flipping them over so that he is hovering over her. His hand travels down her body, his talented fingers tracing gently along her smooth skin and she writhes beneath him when he reaches an especially ticklish place. He giggles as she swats his hand away, dropping his head to her shoulder and waiting for her to calm down. She bites his ear in revenge, scratching her nails along his back.

He collapses on top of her, completely spent, as he catches his breath. Her hands travel along the taut muscles of his back, gently soothing him. He pushes up on his elbows, a sated smile on his lips, and she pulls him down for a lazy kiss. His fingers stroke her cheek and travel down her long smooth neck. He pulls out of the kiss as his fingers trace over the jagged scar line. He eyes the old injury closely, his finger lingering just below it. His lips drop to it, placing four quick kisses against it.

"I could never count to five with you."

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So, I hope you liked it! I had a pretty crappy day, so please cheer me up with your awesome reviews ;)


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